Many, myriad and plentiful, a veritable cornucopea of friends and accomplices. Ash Taylor on the swanny whistle, for instance. Famed songsman Jack Day has also been known to grace the stage to rapturous applause and wonderful effect. Also, international vibesman Illya Amar has recently been tinkling around and adding to the ambience.
Influences
The Lichens, Tim Rose, Hall & Oates, The Badgeman, Sir Lord Baltimore, Speed Glue and Shinki, Les Rallizes Denudes, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, 13th Floor Elevators, Jackson C Frank, Wizz Jones, Leadbelly, Folk music, Literature, Theatre, Art, DH Lawrence and Shane Meadows, that which transmutes shite into gold, Coal miners, beer and whisky, anything done well...Logo design ..
When I was 12 years old, my father left me on a beach. We were on a family holiday in Dorset, I had no wy of knowing where I was and no way to get back home. I'm not saying I blame the man, I'm just telling it as it happened.
Dorset can be a mean place to a young boy who doesn't know his way and I had some hard times there, stories I don't like to tell, stories I don't have time to tell, and stories I just couldn't repeat. But, in time, I got sick of the beach life, and I took to the road.
For three years I walked the wilderness of what we call the West Country, sleeping in stables and eating from the bins, and just trying to stay alive. There were some strange times out there, a young boy alone meets some strange characters, but also some good ones. Had a few jobs; working the factories, picking fruit, that kind of shebang, and who knows what might have become of me had I not had the kindness of some fine women, many of whom I think of even today. Who knows, I might have even stayed with a few of them, but there were other paths that I had to tread.
I finally broke away from the West Country when I found me a job on a fishing boat, trawling the seas. Yes, they were hard times, often working three days at a time without sleep, but also good ones, and the friends I met there I think of today as some of the finest men a young vagabond could meet.
In slow times, I began to think of music, of words, and started to scrawl poetry on the inside of a ledger I found in the cabin. It was the first writing I had done in many years, but it felt good; the poetry turned into songs, which I would sing to the fishermen as they drifted off to sleep, and grateful they were too. They began to sing along, and I got the feel for the commune of song, and began to dream of making it my life.
When I got back to shore, I managed to steal a guitar from some hippies I saw in Newquay. I was hard and bronzed from months at sea and they were no match for my speed and guile, soon after meeting the stoned fools I was running down the road full pelt without so much as a 'by-your-leave.'
The next few months I spent honing my craft, learning to play, giving my fingers free reign over the battered fretboard, and composing basic melodies to complement the tunes I had composed at sea. Soon, I started busking, and with the support I gathered and the small amount of money thrown my way, I finally left the west country and travelled east, north, and everywhere I could think of, all in search of the place I could call home.
My travels took me far and wide, through Somerset, and Wiltshire, and up to Northants, Rutland, on and on along the dusty roads of England. Many was the fireside I laid down by, many the tune I heard and learned there, as I searched for my family, that I may return once more.
Alas, I was a very slow child and had necer learnt the name of my town; after 2 years wandering, I realised I was condemned to my fate, and took to the towns, to try to find a new life. Brighton, Manchester, London; I plied my trade in each of them, in the squats, clubs, crack dens, anywhere at all I could find warm hearts, new songs, and a place to sleep. Here I learnt yet more songs, more styles and ways, and had many fine times, before I took to my heels again, and discovered the strange tongues and peculiar ways of the place we call 'Europe'.
After travelling the pathways of France, Belgium, and Holland, I finally came to rest at a place they call Berlin, a fine old town where a man can play a few tunes, earn a little bread, and spread a little happines. I hooked up with a player by the name of 'Illya Amar', holder of the fastest sticks in Paris, who seemed to have made his way here in some way similar to myself. So here I am, a simple man with some simple songs. Listen, and enjoy. They're here for you.
Hey man, as you can see from stefano's face, we're recording some new stuff... How is it going in freezin' berlin? I am waiting for springtime, i'm lost in the low degrees. Shit. simone
Wenn ihr Lust habt, dann könnt ihr ja mal bei http://www.musikerVZ.cc vorbeischauen. Der Treffpunkt für Musiker bietet eigene Profile mit eigenen Songs, Kleinanzeigen und einen Eventkalender.
Party & Kultfillm
mit Feuerzangenbowle nach alten Familienrezept aus dem Kupferkessel
DJ Pfeiffer & DJ Schnauzer heizen den Kessel ein (Punk, Elektro, HC,
80s).
Grundlage für die hochprozentige Bowle: Vegane Schmalzstullen!
Party & Kultfillm
mit Feuerzangenbowle nach alten Familienrezept aus dem Kupferkessel
DJ Pfeiffer & DJ Schnauzer heizen den Kessel ein (Punk, Elektro, HC,
80s).
Grundlage für die hochprozentige Bowle: Vegane Schmalzstullen!
Ah, damn! I wish we could make it next Monday, but I'll be on the road with my other band The Burning Hell. Nice to meet you the other night though and hopefully we'll run into you soon... Mathias
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